


Just Another Monday Morning

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: “We’ve got a new number,” Finch said as Reese entered the library.“What, already?” Reese groaned.  “First thing Monday morning, too.”And so things progress in the way they always do on a Monday morning.





	Just Another Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MnemonicMadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/gifts).



> Many thanks to my ever awesome beta!

“We’ve got a new number,” Finch said as Reese entered the library.

“What, already?” Reese groaned.  “First thing Monday morning, too.”

“I did tell you to go home and get some sleep rather than fussing over me.”

“I didn’t like to leave you.  You were in pain, and I wanted to be sure you were all right before I left.”

“And, as I said, I took a pain killer and went to bed.  You didn’t need to wait another hour before leaving, just in case of something which didn’t happen.”

Reese glanced at Finch.  Did he know that was how long Reese had waited or was it just an assumption? 

Finch, of course, was giving nothing away, but simply said, “I need to do some more background work on the number, but, in the meantime, I think you should start some surveillance.”  He passed over a sheaf of papers.  “This should tell you all you need.  I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.”  He turned back to his screen.

Reese picked up the papers, glanced through them and departed.  It would have been good to spend a few more minutes with Finch, but work was work, and that was what he was being paid for.

Reese spent the next few hours observing their number, noting who he spoke to and where he went.  He missed hearing Finch’s voice in his ear; he hadn’t appreciated how much he enjoyed just knowing they were in contact, but the silence just meant Finch hadn’t yet been able to dig up anything useful.  After another hour Reese realised there was something unusual about the lack of communication.  Even if Finch hadn’t been able to find anything out, he would have been in touch to let him know because that in itself could mean problems.  The silence would have been explained if Finch had been meeting someone, but he had implied he would be staying in the library, and, surely, he would have let Reese know of any change of plans.

Reese moved into an area where he was less likely to be overheard.  He touched his earpiece and said, “Finch, have you found anything yet?”

There was no reply other than what sounded like radio interference.  Then his phone pinged and flashed up a set of co-ordinates.  At the same time, the number exited the building Reese had been watching and hailed a cab.  By rights, Reese ought to follow him.  But this impulse was overridden by his need to find Finch; the co-ordinates had been sent to him for a reason.

Reese hailed his own cab and gave the destination of a restaurant a couple of blocks from the spot indicated by the co-ordinates.  As they drove, he was surprised to see the other cab heading in the same direction.  Luckily, it went past the restaurant, turning down the side street Reese was planning on taking on foot.

Reese hopped out of the cab, paid the driver, and watched to make sure he had disappeared, before he took to the shadows to reach his ultimate destination.  As he walked, he noted the cab the number had taken heading in the opposite direction, no longer with a passenger.

Reese approached the building he was after from the far side of the street.  Fortunately, directly opposite the building was a bookstore whose window provided sufficient reflection for him to see across the street.  While pretending to browse the array of books on display, Reese could see the number was sitting in an office.  There were three other people in the office, one of whom was Finch.

Reese’s first thought was to burst in and rescue Finch.  His second thought was although Finch was there against his will, he was not hurt, and he might not welcome any intervention while he had the chance of learning more.  Reese continued to look at the books, which his brain noted were mostly about enjoying the outdoor life (Reese felt it was overrated), and spotted Finch very deliberately scratching his nose.  This small event gave Reese hope for it meant Finch knew he was there and ready to leap into action as soon as he was needed.

Reese was beginning to wonder how long he could justify looking in the bookstore window and whether he should go into the store and then look out, when he saw all four men stand up.  Finch stumbled slightly, an agreed sign Reese’s presence would be appreciated, and Reese was across the road and inside the office before anyone realised what was happening.

The first of the two men went down to Reese’s fist, before the second grabbed him.  They wrestled and, together, fell through the office window.  The man was trying to grab either a knife or a gun, Reese wasn’t waiting to see which, so he wrapped his hands around the man’s neck.  His assailant collapsed, and Reese stood up, bits of glass sliding off him as he did so.  Finch, too, had come outside, and there was no sign of their number.

Finch said, “I suggest we make a rapid exit, Mr Reese, before a concerned bystander telephones the police.”

They hurriedly walked away; Reese noting Finch was limping more than usual.  At the corner of the street, a car drew up and they both got in.

They were greeted by Fusco’s cheerful voice.  “I got the message you needed a lift.  And there appears to have been an altercation down the street.  Am I correct in supposing the two are connected?”

“Thank you for your assistance, Detective,” Finch said.  “My leg was causing me some trouble, and I didn’t feel like walking.”

Reese caught Fusco’s expression in the rear-view mirror, clearly, he’d seen the cuts to Reese’s face.  He shrugged and grinned.

Once back at the library, Reese tried hard to make Finch rest his leg, assuring him he could treat his own injuries.

Finch said, “Mr Reese, I appreciate you have the ability to clean and tape your cuts, but I think I would take better care of them than you will.”  He took Reese’s hand and gently dabbed ointment on it but, instead of letting go afterwards, he continued to hold his hand.  “That’s if you will let me care for you.”

At first, Reese didn’t realise what Finch had said.  And then he understood.  Finch was always very precise in his meaning, and he hadn’t said ‘take care of you’ but simply ‘care for you’.  In answer to the unspoken question, Reese smiled, leant forward and kissed Finch on the forehead.


End file.
